Читать книгу Whatever Reilly Wants... - Maureen Child - Страница 10

Saint Sebastian’s Catholic Church looked like a tiny castle plunked down in the middle of rural South Carolina. Made from weathered gray brick, the building’s leaded windows sparkled in the morning sunlight. Huge terra-cotta pots on the front porch of the rectory, or priests’ house, were filled with red, purple and blue petunias that splashed color in the dimness of the overhang. Ancient Magnolia trees stood in the yard of the church, draping the neatly clipped lawn with welcome patches of cool shade.

The church’s double front doors stood open, welcoming anyone who might need to stop in and pray, but Emma drove past the church and pulled into the driveway behind the rectory.

She turned off the engine, then stepped out of the car and into the blanketing humidity of summer. The heat slapped at her, but Emma hardly noticed. She’d grown up in the South and she was used to the heat that regularly made short work of tourists.

Besides, if she was looking to avoid the heat, she could have stayed at the shop, in the air-conditioned splendor of her office, and had one of her mechanics drive Father Liam’s aging sedan back to him. But she’d wanted the opportunity to talk to Connor’s older brother.

Ever since her enlightening conversation with Connor the day before, Emma’d been fuming. And thinking. A combustible combination. She’d lain awake half the night, torn between insult and anger and even now, she wasn’t sure which was the stronger emotion churning inside her.

She’d thought that maybe talking to Liam might help sort things out. Now that she was here, though, she didn’t have a clue what to say to the man.

Muttering darkly, she headed past the small basketball court in front of the garage, down the rosebush-lined driveway and around to the front door.

She knocked, and almost instantly the door was opened by a tall, older woman with graying red hair and sharp green eyes. Her mouth was pinched into its perpetual frown. “Miss Jacobsen.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hannigan,” Emma said, ignoring the woman’s usual lack of welcome. Practically a stereotypical housekeeper, she was straight out of an old Gothic novel. So, Emma never took her grim sense of disapproval personally. Mrs. Hannigan didn’t like anybody.

Stepping into the house, she glanced around and smiled at the polished dark wood paneling, the faded but still colorful braided rugs and the tiny, diamond-shaped slices of sunlight on the gleaming wood floor. “I brought Father Liam’s car back. Just want to give him the keys and the bill.”

“He’s in the library,” the housekeeper said, already turning for the hall leading back down the house toward the kitchen. “You go in, I’ll bring tea.”

“That’s okay—” Horrified, Emma spoke up quickly, trying to head the woman off. Everyone in Baywater knew enough to say no to Mrs. Hannigan’s tea. But it was too late. The housekeeper ignored Emma’s protest and strode down the hallway, filled with purpose, and Emma knew there would be no getting out of having to drink the world’s worst tea just to be polite.

Grumbling to herself, she crossed the hall, opened the door into the library and paused, waiting for the young priest to notice her. It didn’t take long.

Father Liam Reilly set aside the book he was reading, stood up and smiled at her, and Emma had to remind herself that he was a dedicated priest. As she was sure every female was forced to do when face to face with Liam.

As tall as his brothers, he was every bit as gorgeous, too. His black hair, longer than the triplets’ military cuts, was thick and wavy and his deep-blue eyes were fringed by long black lashes any woman would envy. His generous mouth was usually curved in a smile that set people immediately at ease, and today was no exception.

“Emma! I’m guessing your arrival means you were able to save my car again?” He crossed to her and dropped one arm around her shoulder, leading her to a pair of overstuffed chairs near a fireplace that held, instead of flaming logs, a copper bucket filled with summer roses.

“I brought it back from the brink again, Liam,” she said, and handed him the bill she pulled out of her back pocket before taking the seat he offered. “But it’s on life support. You’re going to need a new one soon.”

He grinned, then glanced at the bill and winced. “I know,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “But there’s always a more important use for the money. And Connor’s promised to rebuild the engine when he gets a chance, so I’ll wait him out.”

Connor.

The very man she wanted to talk about. But now that she was here, she really didn’t know what to say. How could she tell a priest that she wanted to kill his brother?

“Something wrong?” Liam asked, sitting down across from her and leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

“What makes you ask that?”

He smiled. “Because the minute I said the name Connor, your face froze and your eyes caught fire.”

“I guess poker’s not my game, huh?”

“No.” He shook his head, reached out, tapped the back of one of her hands and asked, “So, want to talk?”

Emma opened her mouth, but they were interrupted. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Tea, Father,” Mrs. Hannigan announced as she bustled into the room carrying a wide tray loaded with a pitcher of a murky brown liquid, two tall glasses filled with ice and a plate of cookies.

“Oh,” Liam said with heartfelt sincerity, “you really didn’t have to do that, Mrs. Hannigan.”

“No trouble.” She set down the tray, dusted her palms together, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room with near military precision.

“We have to drink it,” Liam said on a sigh as he reached for the pitcher.

“I know.” Emma braced herself as she watched him pour what looked like mud into the glasses.

“She’s a good woman,” Liam said, lifting his own glass and eyeing it dubiously. “Though I can’t imagine why the concept of tea escapes her.”

Emma decided to get it over with and took a hearty swig. She gulped it down before it could stick in her throat, then set the glass back on the tray and coughed a little before speaking again. “So about Connor…”

“Right.” Liam gagged a little at the tea, set the glass down and shuddered. “What’d he do?”

Intrigued, Emma asked, “How did you know he did anything?”

“Something put that flash of anger in your eyes, Emma.”

“Okay, yeah. You’re right.” She jumped up from the chair that was big enough and soft enough to swallow her whole and started walking. Nowhere in particular, she just felt as though she needed to move. “He did do something, well, said something and it made me so mad, Liam, I almost punched him and then I thought he wouldn’t even understand why I was hitting him and then that made me even more mad, which even I could hardly believe, because honestly I was never so mad in my life and he didn’t even have a clue. You know?”

She was walking in circles, and Liam kept his head swiveling, to keep up with her, following her progress around the room and trying to keep up with the rambling fury of her words.

“So, would you hate me, too, if I said I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about?”

Emma blew out a breath and stopped in front of the wide windows overlooking the shady front lawn. The scent of the roses in the cold hearth mingled with the homey scent of lemon oil clinging to the gleaming woodwork. Outside, a slight wind tugged at the leaves of the magnolias and two kids, oblivious to the heat, raced past the church, baseball bats on their shoulders.

“He’s an idiot.” Emma turned and looked at him. “Connor, I mean.”

“True,” Liam admitted and gave her a smile that took the edge off her anger. “In fact, all of my brothers are idiots—” he caught himself and corrected “—maybe not Brian anymore since he wised up in time to keep Tina in his life. But Connor and Aidan?” He nodded. “Idiots. Still, in their defense, they’re under a lot of…pressure, right now.”

“You mean the bet?” Emma asked.

Liam blinked. “You know about it?”

“It’s practically all Connor’s talked about for the last month.”

“Is that right?” Liam smiled again, wider this time. “Driving him crazy, is it?”

Emma grinned at him, despite the bubbles of anger still simmering inside her. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I shouldn’t be, should I?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, her smile fading just a little, “okay, you’re a priest, but you are still a Reilly.”

“Guilty as charged,” Liam admitted. “And this Reilly wants to know what Connor did that upset you so much.”

“He dismissed me.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma shrugged, as if she could shift what felt like a load off her shoulders, then shoved both hands into the pockets of her jeans. Blowing out a breath, she realized that it was just a little harder than she’d thought it would be to talk about this. Saying it all out loud only made it harsher and made her remember the stupid smile in Connor’s eyes when he told her she was a “pal.”

Gritting her teeth, Emma got a grip on her anger and muttered thickly, “He actually told me that he didn’t want me, so I was safe to be around.”

Liam groaned. “He really is an idiot.”

“Yeah, well.” Feeling the sting of Connor’s words again, Emma turned her head and looked out the window, focusing on the gnarled trunk of the closest magnolia tree. She should just be mad, but there was an undeniable sting of hurt jabbing at her, too. And it was that niggling pain that bothered her the most. She hadn’t let a man close enough to actually hurt her in three years. The fact that Connor could do it without even trying infuriated her.

“He’s going to be sorry,” she whispered, more as a solemn promise to herself than to Liam.

“Emma?”

She wouldn’t look at him. How could she? She heard the concern in his voice, and though she appreciated it, she didn’t need it. She’d be fine. Just as she’d always been. And once Connor had been taught a very costly lesson, things would go back to the way they should be. “I’m going to see to it he loses that bet, Liam.”

He sighed and she heard him stand up and walk toward her. “Not that I wouldn’t be pleased if the church got a new roof,” Liam said when he stopped beside her. “But I feel I ought to caution you.”

“About?” She slanted him a look.

Shaking his head, Liam said softly, “Sometimes the best-laid traps can backfire, Emma. They can spring shut on the one who set the trap in the first place.”

Not if the trapper was careful.

“Don’t worry about me, Liam,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and reached out to turn her face toward him. “But you and Connor have been friends for a long time.”

“So?” She didn’t mean to sound so much like a cranky child. But she couldn’t seem to help it. The fact that they had been friends was the very thing that had made this whole situation so infuriating.

“So,” he said, “it’s not that far a fall from friendship to love.”

Emma laughed and shook her head. “Sorry for laughing, Liam. But trust me, there’s no chance of that.”

Number one, she wasn’t interested in loving anybody. She’d tried that once and she still had the emotional bruises to prove it. And Connor wasn’t looking for love either. Heck, if anything, he was trying to avoid women altogether. And clearly, she told herself, her spine straightening and her chin lifting, if he were to go looking for love…he wouldn’t be looking at her. Nope. No danger here.

Still chuckling, she turned and headed for the door. “I’ve got to get back to the garage,” she said. “And don’t worry about giving me a ride back. It’s only a few blocks. I could use the walk.”

At the door, she stopped and turned back to look at him again. Father Liam was watching her with a concerned expression on his handsome face.

“Don’t look so worried,” she quipped. “I’m going to help you get that new roof.”

“A new roof’s not worth a broken heart, Emma.”

If something inside her shivered, she ignored it. He meant well, but he didn’t understand. This wasn’t about making Connor love her. This was about making Connor want her, and then leaving him flat.

This was about payback.

“Hearts are not involved here, Liam.”

Still worried, Liam watched her go. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

Two days later Connor couldn’t stand his own company any longer.

He’d been avoiding his usual hangouts—except for Jacobsen’s Garage—but Emma hadn’t had much time to talk to him in the last couple of days. He might have thought that she was avoiding him, but that didn’t make any sense at all.

To fill his time, he’d spent a few hours working in his mother’s garden, played basketball with Liam and had even mooched a meal from Brian and Tina. But, Connor thought, as good a cook as his sister-in-law was, he just couldn’t take another evening over there. Not with the way Brian and Tina were all over each other.

It was hell to be jealous of a married man.

But there it was.

“I think going without sex is killing off brain cells,” he muttered, and shut off his car’s engine. Instantly the air conditioner died and the temperature in the car started to climb.

Summer nights weren’t much cooler than summer days and the humidity was enough to make a grown man weep. He stared through the windshield at the Off Duty Bar and told himself if he was smart, he’d fire up the engine, turn the car around and drive back to his empty apartment.

But damn it, temptation of women or not, Connor wanted a couple of hours of listening to music, drinking a beer and talking to his friends.

“I can do this,” he assured himself as he opened the car door and stepped out into the sultry summer air. Music, loud but muffled, floated to him on the way-too-slight breeze and the scent of jasmine, coming from the bushes growing at the edge of the parking lot, was thick and sweet.

Connor slammed the car door, punched the alarm button until the car horn beeped, then headed for the front door. As he walked closer, a couple left the building, the man’s arm wrapped tightly around his woman’s shoulders as he dropped a kiss on her hair.

Connor groaned and seriously considered turning back while there was still time. But the lure of air-conditioning, cold beer and some conversation was just too strong. He grabbed the silver bar in the center of the door and gave it a yank. The door flew open, music slapped at him, and the scent of perfume, beer and cigarette smoke welcomed him.

He stepped into the dimly lit room and nodded greetings as he made his way to the bar. Signaling the bartender, Connor said, “Beer. Draft.” He slapped a bill on the bar top and when his drink was ready, he lifted it and took a long pull.

The icy froth soothed him as it slid down his throat, and he shifted his gaze to take in the room. The bar itself was old. Probably fifty years at least. The walls were painted battleship gray and the furniture was scarred. From the open, beamed ceiling, hung memorabilia of the corps. Vintage helmets, bayonets in frayed scabbards, and even a ceremonial sword, belonging to the current owner, a retired Sergeant Major. The whole place was designed to make a military man feel welcome. A Marine, most of all.

There were pool tables at one end of the main room, and on the opposite end, a dozen round tables were lined up in a wide circle, so that the middle of the ring could be used for dancing. The jukebox, which looked older than Connor, blasted out current rock along with some of the classics.

Most of the regulars at the Off Duty were Marines. Winding down after a day of work or just stopping in for a cold one before going home. Of course, there were also a few civilians and more than a few women.

Not that Connor was noticing.

Then the crowd shifted. His hand tightened on the glass of beer. Through the gap in the people milling around the bar, he had an all-too-clear view of a tall blonde in a skirt short enough to be just barely legal.

She was bending over the pool table, lining up a shot.

Connor’s mouth went dry.

Her long, blond hair hung in a honey-colored curtain down to the middle of her back. As she tipped her head to one side, that fall of hair shifted, off her shoulders and his gaze was caught by the way the overhead light picked out streaks of sun-kissed hair, brighter than the rest. She wore a pale-blue tank top that looked as if it had been glued onto her body, and the tiny denim skirt, just covering her behind, hitched even higher as she leaned farther over the pool table. Her shapely legs looked smooth and tanned and about three miles long. She wore black, sky-high heels on her small feet, and her ankles looked as fragile as her thighs looked sexy.

Sexy?

The woman oozed sex.

His fingers squeezed the glass of beer until he wouldn’t have been surprised to feel it shatter like spun sugar in his grasp. Scraping one hand across his face, he inhaled sharply and watched, spellbound, as she lifted her right foot and rubbed it slowly against her left calf.

Need spiked.

His body went instantly hard.

His breath shuddered and his heartbeat staggered.

He watched one of the guys closest to her, lean in and whisper something, and Connor wanted to grab the guy and pitch him through a window.

Okay, breathe.

He sucked in air and told himself that he was only reacting like this because of his recent dry spell.

But it was more.

There was something about her.

Something that called to him from all the way across the room. Something that made a man want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to a cave where he could have her, over and over again. Where he could listen to her moan and taste her sighs.

He took another gulp of beer, hoping the icy drink would put out some of the fire. But he knew better. Damn it, he never should have come in here.

The blonde straightened up slowly, then hitched one hip higher than the other as she laughed. That tight, short skirt of hers hugged her behind. She shook her long blond hair back from her face, and Connor was captivated, watching the thick, wavy fall of blond shift and dance around her.

He swallowed hard.

Then she tipped her head back and playfully patted the other guy’s chest.

Connor dropped his beer.

The glass shattered at his feet, splashing ice cold beer on everyone close by.

He didn’t notice.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the blond with the body made for sex.

“Emma?”